


Unforgivable

by miranda_wave (miranda_askher)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of Hogwarts, First War with Voldemort, Gen, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Unforgivable Curses (Harry Potter), What-If, but headcanon compliant!, canon character death, not my daughter you bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 01:33:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miranda_askher/pseuds/miranda_wave
Summary: We need to talk about Molly Prewett Weasley. Molly the overprotective mother, Molly the knitter of Weasley jumpers, Molly who struck down Bellatrix Lestrange with a wordless curse. Molly whose wand was never examined afterwards, because why would anyone examine the wand of a hero?





	Unforgivable

When Gideon and Fabian died, one on Monday and one on Thursday, Molly was thirty-one years old and six months pregnant with Ginny. Gideon was hit from behind with a _sectumsempra_. He never saw it coming, and the best mediwizards and witches in England could not have mended the great un-healable slashes to his kidneys. (Molly only learned years later that a muggle hospital, with its crude glues and stitches and blood transfusions, might have saved him.)

Fabian was in the field, Mr. Prewett was struck dumb at the news, and Mrs. Prewett was long dead. Molly and her aunt Muriel (uncharacteristically sober and silent) went to identify the body in the Ministry morgue. At first Molly thought he looked like he was sleeping, his face clean and unblemished. But the longer she looked, the more the sickening pallor of his skin—he was, after all, ginger even before he was bloodless—settled into her mind, until she could no longer see her brother at all, just an empty husk.

Fabian died three days later, about twenty minutes after he got the news about his brother. Six Death Eaters were killed in the same fight, and one of their safehouses destroyed. All the Prewetts were told was that he died a hero. The Aurors who were with him gave no details and did not ask for anyone to identify the body, and Molly never asked.

After Fabian, she cried for three days, until she felt little more than a dry and empty husk herself. Bill quietly took charge of the younger boys, feeding them uneven sandwiches and too much pumpkin juice. Molly’s father stared at walls, into untouched mugs of tea, straight at the sun. He would die less than a year later. Her mother was gone, and Molly’s tears for her were no longer old grief, but gratitude that she had not had to bury her children, to identify Gideon or wonder what, exactly, had happened to Fabian.

When she realized Ginny had gone listless, she got up. She ate the soup and drank the cool water Arthur put in front of her. He played music on the old muggle phonograph he had lifted from work and repaired so she could sleep without potions. Ginny kicked again. Molly had eight people to live for.

But she also had a list of names, names she learned from the Order, from the Prophet, from Mad-Eye: the ones who killed Gideon, and the ones who got away from Fabian. It was alphabetized neatly—Avery, Crouch, Dolohov, Mulciber, Rookwood, Travers—except for one name, at the very top of the list: Lestrange.

Molly kept her list in the least-used of her cookery books, tucked into the recipe for fish pie that Fabian loved. It waited. The war ended. Molly raised her children. She slipped away once or twice a week to the training salles in wizarding Birmingham, where no one knew her name, to keep her dueling sharp. She cooked dinners and pressed cider and de-gnomed her garden and invented new spells to keep the Burrow upright, and she never once believed in the peace.

\--

Molly learned the hard way about forgiveness. She navigated its ins and outs, found its dead ends and its loopholes. She forgave Alastor for not having Gideon’s back at the key moment and Dumbledore for not protecting the Potters better. (She forgave Dumbledore so many things, so many times. It exhausted her.) No one expected her to forgive her brothers’ killers, but after they were imprisoned, he friends looked at her stoic expression and thought, now she will find peace. And to all appearances, she did. She even tolerated the presence of witches and wizards whose ties to the Dark Lord were unproven, although more than once Narcissa Malfoy was lucky to leave an encounter unslapped. Molly became a perfect example of wizarding Britain carrying on, making peace, rebuilding alliances.

Arthur, of course, suspected there was more to it; he knew the core of Molly’s magic was steel as much unicorn hair. But he said nothing, and she said nothing.

Molly’s Howlers did not touch on her true rage.

\--

When Molly saw Fred’s body laid on the stones of Hogwarts’ Great Hall, she saw her brothers fall too. She saw the pallor of Gideon’s face and imagined a scream of berserker fury on Fabian’s. And she fell herself beside him. She kneeled over Fred and sobbed.

Seventeen years of waiting, of vegetables chopped and socks mended and lullabies sung, began to fall away too.

When Molly saved her daughter and her future daughter-in-law from the mad Lestrange, Gideon and Fabian rose up too. The brothers she had lost gave her fire, and the people she had forgiven gave her Mad-Eye’s ruthlessness and Dumbledore’s cunning. Her six living children, her grandchild, and her husband gave her fierceness. But Molly herself and her long hours in the dueling salles and her knack for linked charms gave her skill. Molly was a fury and Bellatrix’s eyes grew wide. Molly was formidable and Bellatrix took a step back.

Molly had a list of names with Bellatrix’s at the top, and Bellatrix was unforgiven.

Nobody questioned the color of the light that hit Bellatrix in the chest. The people who saw it were the precious ones who would die to protect Molly as she would die to protect them, or they were Death Eaters whose word, in the coming years, would count for nothing.

Nobody did the math of Molly’s losses or added up how many years it might take for a good woman to brew inside herself the rage that it took to cast the Killing Curse. Nobody considered that _avada kedavra_ might draw its strength from something beyond hate.

\--

Molly got her Order of Merlin, First Class at the same ceremony where Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna received theirs. The list of awardees was long that year, between the Battle of Hogwarts and members of the Order lost before the end. The back of Molly’s medal read _“for outstanding courage and skill in the defense of Hogwarts School and service to the Order of the Phoenix.”_ It did not say _for the loss of her brothers and son_ or _for giving the Chosen One a family to fight for_ or _for dinners and healing spells and love_ , the things that gave her courage and skill and strength. It also carefully did not specify the act that brought Molly fame.

Dobby and Firenze were the first creatures ever to receive the Order of Merlin. Arabella Figg was the first squib. When Kingsley spoke of Remus Lupin before presenting his medal to Harry (who held Teddy in his arms), he did not hide the fact that Remus was a werewolf. The Ministry was changing—but it had not changed fast enough to save so many innocents, wizard, witch, creature, and muggle alike.

Amos Diggory was there to receive the Order of Merlin, Third Class awarded posthumously to his son Cedric ( _“for sportsmanship, generosity, and sacrifice”_ ). Cedric’s medal said nothing about senselessness or innocence or the Ministry’s inaction. Amos sat down near Molly while the young people were dancing and Arthur was gone to see to Victoire. He turned Cedric’s medal over and over in his hands and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Molly said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are,” Amos replied, his face a more weathered reflection of her own pain. “Nobody could know better.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. Fred had also received the Order of Merlin, as well as the Crystal Wand, traditionally given to the families of Aurors lost in the line of duty. He was the first non-Auror to receive the honor, and that is not nothing. Nor is it enough.

Amos turned and looked at her for a long moment. Molly looked back steadily.

“How—” Amos cleared the hoarseness from his throat. “How did you do it?”

 _It_ could be many things, but Molly knew exactly what he meant. How did she do what dozens of trained Aurors had failed to do? How did she avenge her family? There were a dozen polite excuses she could make and superficial answers she could give, but Amos—Amos was a Hufflepuff when they were in school. He had fought in vain to persuade Fudge that Voldemort had returned. Amos knew loyalty and compassion and love could be as dangerous as hate.

“She was…unforgivable,” Molly replied quietly. And she said no more.

Amos studied her quietly for a moment. There were heroes who came out of war with clean hands, like Harry, with his self-sacrifice and his disarming spells. And then there were heroes who didn’t.

“Thank you,” Amos whispered. “Thank you.” He rose and slipped away.

Molly reached for the medal that hung around her neck and turned it over again. She ran her finger over the inscription. It might not be the whole truth, but it was true enough.

Molly Prewett Weasley was not at peace, not yet. But she would be.


End file.
